Last Stop: Love

8. Open talk !?

Moments drifted by, and Meetha finished her meal and went to wash up. Irfan cleared the boxes and followed her to the wash basin.

Meetha smiled at his reflection in the railway mirror. He was mesmerised by the brilliant dazzle of her sweet smile and stood rooted to the floor. He observed her smooth fingers delicately wiping her lips with a whisper of water, cleansing the food stains. She then took the handkerchief he gave her to dab off the moisture as she turned to him.

“This hanky is mine now, I think?” She chuckled. “I promise I'll get you a new one.”

He nodded speechlessly. He still couldn't take his eyes off her. She didn't seem to realise the effect she had on him. She simply smiled.

He cleared his throat and turned to the wash basin, trying to wash away his capricious thoughts as he cleaned his hands. Meetha waited there, casually glancing out the door. The wind whipped her hair into a gentle frenzy, with stray strands caressing her face. She effortlessly gathered her locks into a bun and secured it with a clip. Irfan, watching from the mirror, felt his heart skip a beat as he took in her effortless elegance.

Irfan's phone rang loudly, his ringtone a popular Bollywood melody. He snapped out of his trance and quickly fished out his phone from his pocket.

“I.. I have to take this. It's my agent from Hyderabad.”

“Sure. Go ahead. I'll be at our seat.”

He attended the call as she walked away.

When he came back, he found Meetha sitting with her legs stretched on the berth.

She quickly folded her legs when she noticed him.

“Is it okay if we leave the berth like this? You can put it back if you want”

“I'm okay with it if you're comfortable.”

“Thanks yaar. Do tell me if you wanna sleep.”

Meetha glanced at her wristwatch. It was nine forty pm. Around two hours to go until the train reaches Hyderabad.

“We're halfway there,” she heard a mother nearby tell her boy. “Close your eyes and sleep, and then when you wake up we'll be home.”

Irfan and Meetha looked at each other.

“When was the last time you spoke with your parents?” He asked.

“They call on weekends. It's the only time when both of us are free. Dad is an investment banker, so he's working all days of the week, even after moving to The States. Mom has her own hobbies.”

“Don't you miss them?”

She shrugged. “I do, but I can't ask them to come back, no?”

He chuckled a little, befuddled.
“If you say you miss them, won't they come back?”

“Yes, but they'll feel bad for leaving Mithun. He will suffer. I can't do that to them.”

“Oh, Meetha.. you can't just bury your feelings to make them happy. They're your parents. They have a right to know. You have a right to tell them when you need them.”

“I don't ‘need’ need them. I can manage by myself. But..”

“Yes..”

“It would be nice if they were by my side,” she admitted with a sigh.

Irfan's eyes zeroed in on her face. He scrutinised her micro-expressions before offering, “Do you wanna call now and talk to them?”

She shook her head in negation.

“I can't. I need to.. process this.. thing.. that has happened. I don't know what to tell them. So, not now.”

Irfan agreed. “Take your time. But promise me you'll talk to them about your feelings. They deserve to know.”

Meetha's assented silently, her eyes blinking in subtle affirmation.

“Excuse me, is it okay if we turn off the aisle light? I'm trying to get my child to sleep.” The mother near their seat interrupted them.

“No problem ma'am. Let me do it for you.” Irfan switched off the fluorescent lamps above the aisle.

There was sufficient illumination from lights from other compartments and even from outside. Meetha began to admire the soft luminescence from a mix of sources, natural and artificial. The light seemed otherworldly, embracing and soothing her tired heart.

“Isn't this nice?” Irfan voiced her thoughts. She smiled. “It is.”

They stayed in blissful silence peppered by the train's gentle chugging that wove a sense of sweet harmony. Meetha couldn't stop smiling even if she tried.

Irfan looked at her breathtaking silhouette bathed in serene moonlight.

“May I tell you something without coming across as creepy?”

Meetha tilted her head in confusion. “What is it?”

“You look beautiful with your hair let down,” he murmured.

She looked surprised and doubtful.

“I.. I mean, this hairstyle looks good too.. It's just that.. open hair looked so perfect on you.. You looked so beautiful.. I.. I didn't mean it in a creepy way.. I just liked seeing you like that..” he blurted fervently.

Meetha took a minute to process his words. His words had come out of nowhere, making her a bit nervous and self-conscious. She had been hit on by her classmates and colleagues, but she would brush it off indifferently as she had her supposed soulmate by her side. This seemed different. She could see Irfan wasn't trying to hit on her— If that was the case, he would have come up with something far more charming than the flustered blurt-out. No, he was genuinely complimenting her.

That made her irrationally self-conscious. Mentally begging for a mirror to check her face, she looked at him in disbelief. She never took compliments well.

“I.. mean.. should I say thanks?”

“I'd be happy if you didn't slap me,” he shrugged, with a cautious, apprehensive frown on his forehead.

It made her laugh. She shook her head in incredulity.
“I won't slap you, don't worry. Just don't spring any more surprises on me.”

“I was stating a fact,” he grinned before launching into a spot-on imitation of Shah Rukh Khan, flawlessly mimicking the superstar's signature accent, “Khule baal haseen lagte hain aapko.”

Meetha's jaw dropped, and she stared at him unblinkingly.

Irfan's cheeks burned as he began profusely regretting his choice of words, when Meetha removed the hair clip and let her hair cascade, her eyes never leaving his.

***